Warmth
by Child of Loki
Summary: In which Nell Jones is thoroughly chilled and tries fruitlessly to get warm. G Callen unexpectedly supplies the solution. A Nell/Callen Comfort and Friendship/Romance ficlet.
1. Part 1: Nell

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**NCIS:LA **_**or its characters…**

**Author's Note: So the idea for this was condensed into a drabble (see **_**Stakeout Small Talk and other drabbles)**_**, but my loquacious self wasn't satisfied with being concise. This will be a two-shot. Kind of pointless, but… aren't most of my fics?**

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><p>Nell Jones had created an inscrutable mist to rival the fog that engulfs a Maine coastal town in the dawn hours. She half-expected to see the glow of a light house in the distance, hear the bellow of a foghorn echoing off the water. But she was only in the women's shower at the Office of Special Projects, and still shivering despite having successfully used up every last drop of hot water in the entire building.<p>

She momentarily felt guilty, as she considered the man who had headed for the men's locker room at the same time she dashed -okay, shuffled- towards her own hot water haven. Hopefully, he hadn't delayed, and grabbed a shower immediately. Because he was going to be in for a frigid surprise if he attempted to do so now. There was no denying the selfish indulgence of the who-knew-how-long, deliciously warm shower. Water conservation was a serious issue for the planet, Nell was aware. But she had a hard time conjuring the environmentalist in her after spending four hours in 60 degree water, with only a thin cotton cover-up thrown over a bikini and the body heat of her partner (well, temporary partner, for the stupid undercover op that although considered a 'win' for thwarting the bad guys, was not something she considered a 'success').

Nell Jones only wanted to drive the chill from her bones.

Thanking the universe for the creation of the supreme being known as 'Henrietta Lange', Nell grabbed a freshly laundered, extra plush bathrobe out of the towel closet and wrapped herself up with a sigh of immense satisfaction. Only Hetty would insist they have a stock of toiletries to rival the Ritz' luxuries.

Briefly, Nell wondered at the business they must give to one very lucky laundry service as she picked up the sopping pile of clothes she'd carelessly shed on the locker room floor and tossed them along with the towel she'd used into the large laundry bin. Despite vigorous drying with the plush towel (disregarding the affect it would have on her hair), there were still rivulets dripping down the nape of her neck, and the precisely 70 degree central air was making the heat flee the top of her head in waves. A glint of florescent light off metal caught her eye as she headed towards her locker to dig out a fresh pair of clothes and she paused.

Oh, to hell with it.

She crouched down with her back to the wall and reaching up, pressed the big metal button. Hot air whooshed down over her head with the roar of jet engines deafening her to an almost painful degree. But she didn't care. When the hand-dryer shut off, she didn't hesitate to initiate another cycle. And another, before her exhausted legs refused to hold her weight up and she slid completely to the floor, her eyelids feeling heavy.

Something about sharks with teeth of jagged ice and an abyss like the deepest oceanic trench. The details of the dream swirling about her head evaporated as soon as her chin hit her chest and she jerked awake.

She was cold again.

The concrete floor had leached away what little warmth she had forced into her frigid bones. Somehow, she managed to struggle to her feet, find her locker, dig out some cozy clothing and dress.

Home. She needed to crawl into bed under a pile of quilts and sleep the week away.

Shuffling slowly towards the exit, Nell felt like a zombie ambling determinedly to the house where the living were holed up. She'd never have called herself a strong swimmer, but she had never thought herself a weak one, either. But keeping her head above water for all those hours had sapped every last ounce of her strength. She was drained to the core and... _aw, damn_. Like a large, awkward and poorly maneuverable barge, she began to change direction. She couldn't drive herself in this condition. She'd have to call a cab. And there was no way her legs would hold her while she waited outside.

Not to mention, it wasn't in protocol to give the address of the 'abandoned' building to a cab company... or anyone.

If somebody asked, she would never admit it. But neither was she ashamed of the noise she made, half-whine and half-moan-of-utter-despair. She was well within her rights to produce such a ridiculous, pathetic sound.

"Nell?"

She started, which surprised her, since she wouldn't have guessed she'd even have the energy for that knee-jerk reaction. It was G Callen. Apparently, he hadn't left yet either. But he was more vagrant than anyone she knew, bar actual vagrants. The man came and went as he pleased, and couldn't be pinned down to any schedule. But she thought that after the day (and night) they'd had, he would've wanted to head home as soon as possible.

"Hey," she said weakly.

"Feeling better?" He asked from where he was sitting on the sofa in the lounge area.

"I don't think I'll ever be truly warm again."

"Uh... yeah." Uncharacteristically, he looked somewhat sheepish. "Sorry about that."

"It's not your fault, really," she said. "I mean we probably could've found another way to stop that yacht full of explosives, but blowing it up seemed to do the..."

She yawned, her jaw cracking in a disturbingly loud manner, which she hoped was more due to the quiet of the large, cavernous, and vacant building than the condition of her mandible. When she opened her eyes, a quite laborious task, Callen was so close she started again. And then yawned again.

"Why don't you sit down a moment?" His hand was firm but not constrictive on her arm. She could only blink her bleary eyes at him and nod slowly, as he escorted her over to the sofa and sat her down.

"Cocoa?" he asked, handing her a still steaming mug of thick, chocolate perfection. She accepted the celestial nectar and took a sip, scalding her taste buds and not caring as it burned its way down her esophagus to pool warm and thick in her belly. The sound of pure pleasure that issued from the back of her throat was likely last produced under much different circumstances, the nature of which was also likely apparent to anyone who heard the ecstatic moan.

But Nell didn't care. She was too tired to care. Instead, she greedily drank down another gulp of the hot, sugary liquid. _Mm. Hot cocoa equals bliss._

"Thanks," she said to the man who had provided said 'bliss' warming her fingers and stomach. It hadn't quite reached her bones however.

"You're welcome." Callen took a sip from his own mug. He was wearing cozy looking sweats, and she was a little jealous of the thick hoodie. All she could find were her yoga pants, a camisole and cardigan.

She sighed as the temporary warmth of the hot cocoa dissipated and goose bumps broke out over her skin for the hundredth time that day. While she was quite thankful to have been officially diagnosed with only mild hypothermia and with Hetty's sway not been forcibly hospitalized, Nell was beginning to doubt the Medics evaluation. Would she ever feel warm again?

She was a mid-westerner for god's sake. For the first ten years of her life winter snow cover was deeper than she was tall, and vastly subzero temperatures were the norm. This... this _softness_ was shameful. Especially since blue eyes, Caribbean warm rather than tundra icy, were studying her intently. Callen frowned and then unzipped his hoodie, shedding it.

"Here." Nell tried to refuse his offer, but he gave her little choice, throwing the garment over her, and then swaddling her in it until she finally relented and put her arms through the large sleeves. He zipped her up in it, and she felt as if she'd been engulfed by a fluffy cloud, that smelled like...

"Lavender?" she said aloud and then blushed. If she didn't know better, she would swear the man's cheeks turned vaguely pink as well.

"Hetty somehow feels the need to stock the showers like a high end luxury hotel suite," he said. "I think maybe the fancy soaps were supposed to go to the ladies'."

Nell giggled. She couldn't help it. Delirium. That's what it was. Exhausted delirium. She wasn't in her right mind, which could be why she leaned in and sniffed his shoulder, giggling again as the wave of lavender filled her nose. G Callen smelled like flowers. _Like a girl_. His scent was generally one of gun cleaner, sweat and sometimes soot and blood (not that she had noticed). Falling against him, she giggled some more, feeling like a silly child staying up late at summer camp, hiding under the blanket with her BFF, a flashlight and a game of MASH.

Callen chuckled, doubtless amused by her ridiculous state.

"You're exhausted."

_Wow, great observational skills, special agent._

"Why don't you lie down for a little while?"

"No," she shook her head. "Want to go home. So cold. You're warm." Her eyelids were feeling very heavy. "...'s nice..."

Sometime later, she couldn't say how long, Nell Jones woke to find herself beneath a fleece blanket, sandwiched between the back of the sofa and a large, warm body. And rather than feeling awkward, even upon discovering there were hands settled in somewhat scandalous places, she felt cozy and _warm_.

_Finally._

She buried her face in the soft fabric of Callen's t-shirt, nuzzling his chest, sighing and drifting off to sleep once more.

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><p><strong>AN: So now you see I just can't resist the Nell/Callen cuddles… Callen-centric part next. **


	2. Part 2: Callen

**Author's Note: Well, this took me longer than intended to post. But my excuses are as follows… 1.) Carpal Tunnel (boo, real job, boo.) 2.) I've been trying to write more original fiction, in the hopes that one day I will not require my 'real job' and its physically damaging misery. And, 3.) I was iffy on what I wanted this fic to be, but ultimately it is simply a moment between Nell and Callen, full of cuddles and not much else. **

**So… enjoy?**

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><p>G Callen had tried to shrug it off, suck it up. But damn, was he cold! Still cold. Likely cold forever more. But one look at Nell, the subtle shaking of her shivering body, that thin cardigan and camisole and those yoga pants... was that the only dry clothing she had on hand? He took the empty cocoa mug from her rather icy hands and set it on the coffee table, unzipped his hoodie and put it on her without a second thought.<p>

It was his fault she was suffering from mild hypothermia. _Why the hell had he brought her along on the op?_

Because she was a smart, capable agent, with the technical skills they needed for the supposed intellectual property theft case, which ended up being nothing of the sort. So... it had been her job. He had only asked her to do her job. Except her job description of 'intelligence analyst' in no way, shape or form included jumping from a yacht loaded with explosives and set to explode, then trying to stay afloat in cold water for several hours with only a fellow agent to serve as a life preserver. And what a dismal one he was. Well, she was alive, at least.

Alive, but apparently exhausted beyond reason, uncharacteristically giggly (what was so funny about his smelling like lavender, anyway?) and tipsy, like a drunk sorority girl rather than quite a clever federal agent. But her body did seem to be giving off some lovely heat as she fell against him and he caught her to steady her in his lap.

"Why don't you lie down for a little while?"

Her response was incoherent but appeared to be in the negative, even as she trailed off, her eyes closed, her body softening into a pleasant weight in his lap as she fell asleep mid-muttering. He smiled to himself despite his own weariness. The red-headed pixie of a woman was rather cute in her sleep, even with the dark circles under her eyes and a frown on her lips. He carefully shifted her, laying her on the sofa, reaching for the fleece blanket draped over the back to use to cover her, feeling the exhaustion like a lead weight pulling against his muscles, dragging his limbs down. Maybe he could just lie down for a minute, too. The floor would be fine, but it was so far away. And Nell's petite body was so enticingly warm. He though it would feel very much like having a hot water bottle tucked beneath the blankets, warming a person's cold bones. At least, what he imagined having a bed cozy with quilts and hot water bottles felt like…

She wouldn't mind.

Judging by how heavily asleep she appeared, she wouldn't even know, because he would wake up first anyway, and she'd never have to know how he cozied up beside her, snaked his arms around her, pulled her against his chest and curled his body around hers, feeling the warmth of her radiate through him, trapped by the blanket he pulled over them, building into a snug nest that was the most intoxicating soporific he'd ever experienced. The smell of lavender mingling with the scent of vanilla in her hair (which Hetty must have supplied to the women's facilities), lulling him into a sleep so heavy it smothered all conscious brain function.

Callen woke slightly disoriented, which was a novelty that was rather disorienting in of itself. He always snapped to full attentive wakefulness, aware of his surroundings and circumstances. But this time, it took him nearly a minute to realize the precise nature of his situation, and all of the events leading to it.

He was nestled on the sofa in the lounge area at the OSP, with his little pixie junior agent curled about him like a cat. Her small slender fingers were laid flat against his chest, skin to bare skin, for one hand had snaked down into the neck of his t-shirt, her other hand cool but not cold against the back of his neck. How they had shifted into such an insane position, he wasn't sure, but his mouth was not an inch from her inner thigh, and he was beyond grateful for the black fabric covering her skin. And for his thick hoodie that was much too large for her, cushioning his head like a pillow so that he couldn't feel those round breasts of hers pressing against the top of his head. He'd had enough unsolicited and unintentional familiarity with the young woman's curves all those hours huddled together in the cold ocean water earlier that night. So why did he have his hand wrapped about her leg, holding her thigh close to his face, like a small child clutching a teddy bear? And what was filling his other hand? Round, soft and yet too firm to be blanket or throw pillow-_oh, shit_. He was cupping her ass.

What a disturbing development.

And yet he hadn't let go, wasn't letting go of the wonderful hot water bottle, which smelled of lavender and vanilla and breathed gently against the nape of his neck, soft and curvy and molded against his body, filling his hands.

He should really extricate himself from the situation.

If he were at all a gentleman, he would let go. He would just gently untangle himself, slide off the couch, and rearrange Nell to lie in a more comfortable position, tuck the blanket around her and make his exit, no one the wiser.

But it felt so nice. _She_ felt so nice. So inexplicably wonderful.

He couldn't ever remember being cuddled in such a manner, without reserve or hesitation, without intent or purpose. There were no motives behind the way the young woman held him in her sleep, besides the comfort of the moment. She wasn't touching him to arouse him, seduce him, romance or claim him. She was just there, with him, warm and gentle and beautiful.

Succumbing to the pull of her languid, oh-so-cuddly form, he nuzzled the downy-like jersey fabric covering her inner thigh. She smelled of lavender, laundry detergent and _woman_. Her fingers flexed against his chest and she made a sort of whimpering noise in the back of her throat, which made him freeze, suddenly aware that he was Agent G Callen. And she was Nell Jones. They were not just any pair of human beings, exhausted, weary, desperate for the warmth only another person could provide. They were government agents, coworkers, two specific people with an established acquaintance of a very specific, friendly but not intimate variety.

He sighed, and slowly removed his hands from her backside and thigh. Her fingers flexed again, clinging to him as he attempted to disentangle himself from her. He managed it, just barely, ultimately having to scoop her up in order to lay her back down in a more normal sleeping position , pulling the blanket up to cover her, when her eyelids fluttered and she blinked a few times, finally settling her intent hazel gaze upon him. And all he could think was, _She wakes up now!? _Not when he first settled her upon the couch and then joined her himself, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. Not when his hands had apparently wandered in his sleep, as had her entire body, and his for that matter, until they'd somehow arranged themselves into the most bizarre of cuddles. And not when he'd more-or-less caressed and squeezed the flesh filling his hands, or rubbed his face on her fragrant thigh. Or even when he'd finally jostled her about, trying to free himself from the hold she'd had upon him, and the tempting pull of her cuddly self.

Wordlessly, she reached out and took his hand, tugging gently, staring into him with _those _piercing, sage eyes of hers. How did someone so young, so inexperienced possess the ability to look straight through him? It was more than just an open invitation. It was understanding without judgment or expectation. It said 'hold me. I know you want to, and I want you to, not for any other reason than the fact that we're both human and need the comfort of another person.'

G Callen willingly complied.

When he climbed back onto the sofa to lie beside her, she turned her back to him, guiding his arm to drape over her waist, and wiggling her bottom snug up to him, in quintessential spooning perfection. If there was ever a body made to be his Little Spoon, it was Nell Jones' eminently cuddle-able one. He buried his face in the slightly frizzy mass of auburn air, breathing in its vanilla scent. He tightened his hold on her... just a little, hugging her and smiling when she made a pleased humming noise, her slender hands squeezing his forearms in reciprocation. It was really, really nice. Yet... slowly, he slid one hand down her belly and hip, finding the bottom of the overlarge hoodie and darting beneath it, stealthily gliding deeper, prowling like a panther into the depths of the forest until he'd scented his prey. Skin, warm and silky smooth to the touch, tensing beneath the touch of his fingertips, and then softening.

More. He wanted more.

It just wasn't enough contact with her.

His fingers drifted farther up, with no sign of protest on her part, her hand resting lightly on his wrist, neither discouraging or encouraging as he continued his advance until his palm settled fully on her belly, the depression of her navel marked by the absence of skin-to-skin euphoria. He could feel her heartbeat, a pleasant, pulsing _thump-thump_, low, slow and steady in her chest. Its rhythm lulled Callen into a sleepy sort of dazed bliss, and he slowly traced the band of her bra across her ribcage with his forefinger.

So nice.

He couldn't help but compare the feel of Nell's warm, soft body with how frigid and cold her petite frame had been as he half-held, half-clung to her in the cool ocean just a matter of hours earlier. Now she was all deliciously supple flesh radiating heat, no longer shivering, teeth-chattering, gasping as the cold bit into her bones, but practically purring with pleasure. Hell, if he were a feline, he would be rumbling as loud as a panther himself.

_Purr-fect._

Oh, god. He was so blissed-out from cuddling that he'd been rendered completely giddy. But he was neither inclined or capable of fighting the heady sensation, so Callen simply hugged Nell Jones tighter, closed his eyes and fell back into a peaceful sleep, one full of contentment and _warmth_.

END

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><p><strong>AN: I guess I'd call this **_**friendship-plus**_**, and am leaving it at that, up to you to imagine where it goes from here. I think I've proven/elucidated enough times where I personally take Nell and Callen (inevitably in my mind).**


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